


Hello (Goodbye)

by noexiiistence



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Established relationship (platonic), let these boys be friends 2kforever, post 3.3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noexiiistence/pseuds/noexiiistence
Summary: When Francel returns from Skyfire to, instead, spearhead the rebuilding of the Firmament, Emmanellain decides he's the best to go to for advice as the seat in Dragonhead remains empty and Francel, too, hadn't been much for fighting before his posting at Skyfire.
Relationships: Emmanellain de Fortemps & Francel de Haillenarte
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

Francel’s fingers dance nimbly over the keys of the piano, only paying enough attention to the sheet music before him to be certain muscle memory didn’t lead him astray, losing himself to the tune. Playing felt different now, did it used to feel like this? Back when he was small in his mother’s lap learning the notes? Did it feel like this when he fell in love with music? If so, when did the feeling leave? Was it the war that robbed him of the joy? Or was it the loss of Chlodebaimt that chased it away? He wasn’t certain, he couldn’t remember. What he did know, however, was that his fingers felt lighter than they had in a long time.

He couldn’t say there wasn’t a part of him sad to know he wasn’t to return to command of Skyfire, after knowing he had fought and begged for the post. But he was still going to be helping Ishgard, and in a way that was more important now. _Now_ he had the Firmament, he was trusted to guide and organize rebuilding the city he was born and raised in, and it wasn’t only his father who believed in him enough to give him the post, but by popular vote in the newly formed parliament. It hadn’t been a unanimous thing, but enough of them believed in him and he was determined to prove them right.

A knock comes from the open doorway and Francel’s fingers slow, unfaltering, as his attention is pulled towards it. There, Emmanellain stood in the doorway looking somewhat nervous, Honoroit nowhere in sight. They had not seen each other since Haurchefant’s funeral, he suddenly realizes. They had been friends as children; both the youngest of their families and friendly with Laniaitte and Haurchefant. They had bonded over a shared tendency towards melancholy and a feeling of alienation from the nation they were raised in. Neither of them had been made for battle, much less military _command_. And they had drifted apart once Francel threw himself into training to replace Chlodebaimt. He wondered if it was too late to bridge that gulf. Wondered if Emmanellain had felt abandoned, had hated him.

“You came back,” Emmanellain says simply, walking a few steps into the room and closing the door behind him and Francel worries what that means as his fingers still on the keys entirely.

“I did,” he replies with a small nod, gaze focused on his hands instead of the other in the room. “Skyfire does not need me anymore. In truth, they likely never did. I never did or said anything they would not have done on their own.”

“But you _went_.” It’s not an accusation, and Francel doesn’t think it was meant to be, but he feels the weight of Emmanellain’s words, even more so in the wake of the failure of command in Falcon’s Nest not too long ago. Even with the war over, the failure and the denial of opportunity beforehand had to hurt more than participation in one melee would mend. A hurt that was achingly familiar to Francel from years past.

“I did. At great cost.” Francel forces himself to lift his gaze to Emmanellain’s. “I thought I was going for revenge. I thought I would spill the blood of those who killed Chlodebaimt.” He shakes his head and sighs quietly. “However, when the time came, when Svara was at our door, I was not even allowed out until the wyrm was slain. It was for the best, I know now, but at the time all I understood was that my father had denied me the chance I went to the post for. After that….after that I stayed because I thought it was where I should be. It was where Ishgard wanted me.”

“It’s more than Father has given me.”

“You were too young when Haurchefant was posted. And he needed it, we both know what he endured at the hands of society here. He could smile through it, but sending him away was for the best for him.” Francel closes his eyes and drops his gaze again, shaking his head. “And it is not a competition, Emmanellain. It never has been. My father….I begged him. Even after years of training, my fighting was subpar for knighthood. But he allowed me to go anyway, to command anyway. I knew how to command in theory, even if I could barely wield a sword or lance.” He looks up again and levels his gaze across the piano between him and Emmanellain. “At least you have a knighthood and the knowledge of the sword. Were this a competition I would call us equal. But it is not. And we….we are not. We’re different people, Emmanellain. Please, do not measure your successes or failures by the shadows of mine own.”

Silence fills the room for a minute and Francel contemplates returning to playing. His fingers itch to be back on the keys, but he wants to be able to help Emmanellain, he wants to do _whatever_ he can to help. It’s not a familiar role to him, he’s never been much of one people brought their problems to. But he wanted to help. He was to rebuild Ishgard. If he couldn’t rebuild an old friendship then could he truly help rebuild a nation?

“His post at Dragonhead remains empty,” Emmanellain says at length and Francel bites his tongue on his immediate response. “The war is over but perhaps- perhaps I could be of use there.”

“Is that what you truly want? What would make you happy?” Francel asks, cocking his head and looking deep into the other’s eyes. He saw the pain and longing there that he recognized from his own soul years ago. But, having got what he wanted, he knew better than most that what someone _wants_ is not always what makes them happy. In fact, getting what he had wanted had made him significantly _less_ happy

Emmanellain shakes his head, frowning. “Father is still grieving and the post is empty. I’ve done little but make a fool of myself and bring shame to our house. The war is over, and he- they would not have to face me every day were I there.”

Francel sighs. Dragonhead would be far safer now than it had been; Nidhogg was slain and peace had been declared after all. While there may still be some heretics out to cause trouble, he was certain it was nothing Dragonhead couldn’t take care of on their own, with or without an official commander. Emmanellain was likely to be almost completely safe. But would he be happy? Life in a military fortress was nothing like life in a manor- that was something _Francel_ had learned quickly enough, and he had never been so desirous of pampering as Emmanellain sometimes was. But there were lessons to be learned there, lessons of teamwork and command and learning people and how to act under pressure, how to measure the weight of your every word. Perhaps, then, Emmanellain would learn something while there. And maybe that was enough to make it worth it.

But Francel wasn’t going to be the one to tell him it was his only option. “Given time, your father may come to understand you better- and you him, besides. I do not think he is ashamed of you, not truly, but he cannot understand a child of his not wishing to follow the path he walked himself. My father was much the same. He never understood Stephanivien’s devotion to Skysteel, nor my love of music. He has become more accepting with time but I...do not think he will ever _understand_.”

Carefully, Francel pulls the piano keylid down and finally stands, walking over to Francel and taking one of the other’s hands in both of his. “I wish you would find what makes you _happy_ , Emmanellain.” The words are quiet but hold the full weight of his emotion as he looks deep into Emmanellain’s eyes. “I found it young and still it took me until recently to embrace it. I would love to see the same for you.”

Shaking his head, Emmanellain pulls his hand away. “I have to try. I want to make them _proud_ , not simply accepting.”

It’s almost startling to Francel how Emmanellain’s pain is both so familiar and so _distant_. Has it truly been so long since he last felt this way? Has he really come so far that this specific feeling is just beyond his reach? He aches to help, to find the words to solve this for his friend. It almost hurts to see him in pain and be unable to reach it to fix it. But he has done all he can. And this post was far less likely to be a death sentence now as it might have been before. And, he could still visit.

At length, Francel nods. “If that is your wish. May Halone guide and bless you.”

At last, a small weight seems to fall from Emmanellain’s shoulders. As though he had been waiting for someone to support his decision, to not try to stop him. And perhaps he was- the way he spoke, he couldn’t have talked to his father or Artoirel about it yet and Laniaitte had not been in the city for a while. “I am glad you are back, old boy” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile lingering on his face.

“And I am glad to be back,” Francel replies, mirroring the expression. His heart still ached, both for Emmanellain and the distance between them, but, for the moment, he thought, perhaps, the distance wasn’t _so_ far. For the moment, he thought they could bridge it. He hoped they could. “Would you like to stay and listen to me play?”

“Certainly.” Emmanellain nods, finally moving to one of the seats in the room and Francel moves back to the piano, lifting the keylid again and turning the sheet music to the beginning. His fingers touch the keys and begin their dance, and he remembers, years ago, the last time the two of them sat like this while he played and wondered if Emmanellain did too.


	2. Chapter 2

It was one thing, Francel thought, to not tell Emmanellain that he shouldn’t volunteer to take his brother’s spot at Dragonhead, in fact he had encouraged it somewhat, but it was another to watch it happen. To watch his friend throw himself into swordplay with a dedication he’d had for little else before, to hear how Ishgard’s discussions of him shifted. To hear that Artoirel had approved the decision.

It was safe now, of course, Francel knew that. There would be few, if any, battles coming from that side and fewer still likely to pass through Dragonhead. And everyone at the camp would care for Emmanellain in the way Haurchefant would want them to. Francel had always admired their loyalty to their commander, and even more so now that it remained after his death. A loyalty that meant Emmanellain would be as safe there as he could be, that they would show him what must be done and how to do it, to protect him and set him up for success, not failure, as Ishgard’s every move had seemed to until now.

It was safe, but still Francel worried.

Finding a break in his duties to the Firmament, Francel goes to search Emmanellain out. He didn’t know what he was going to say, they hadn’t talked much since welcoming Francel back to the city for good, but still he felt it necessary to see him off, still he felt a tug indicating this was the only right course of action, that if he didn’t act now then maybe _this_ would be the point of no return for their friendship.

Francel’s feet carry him into the Fortemps manor and he feels instantly out of place. He had rarely visited outside of invited gatherings as it had never been very comforting or inviting to either of the two of its sons Francel had befriended. But still, he moved forward, knowing where Emmanellain’s room was and suspecting to find him there as he must be packing for setting out the next day.

He knocks gently at the door and waits for an invitation before opening it and stepping inside. It had been many years since he had stepped foot in Emmanellain’s room- and even then it had been rare- but the room looked as he remembered; clean and organized in such a way that it was clear it was kept that way by little more than the house staff and not at all like it was truly lived in. It always made Francel’s heart hurt to see rooms that should be loved and lived in so lacking in emotion.

“So you’re leaving,” he says, forgoing greetings as he closes the door behind himself and leans against it. Francel’s over by his bed, packing a bag and Francel intends to give him as much space until he’s certain where they stand in this conversation.

“Francel, old boy. Wasn’t expecting a send off from you,” he replies, offering a smile. It’s brighter than Francel had seen on him in a while, but it didn’t convince him this was best. He remembered the relief and elation he felt when finally given Skyfire too. He would trust it only if it didn’t wear off after Emmanellain’s first month away.

“We were friends once,” Francel offers with a shrug and small smile in return. “It only felt right. And the Firmament does not keep me _so_ busy that I cannot spare a few minutes to speak to a friend.” He pushes off of the door and takes a further couple of steps into the room, feeling less afraid of misstep in the conversation after Emmanellain’s warm greeting.

“We’re still friends, old boy” comes the other’s insistence. “Why else would I tell you this plan before anyone else?”

At once, it feels like a small weight is lifted from Francel’s shoulders and his smile brightens slightly. “I was uncertain. It...it has been years, after all.”

The conversation lapses for a moment as Emmanellain finishes packing his bag and closes it. The silence is almost tense, both looking for what exactly to say next. Francel knew what had to be on Emmanellain’s mind, he had been here before, after all, but that wasn’t what they were here to talk about, that could be discussed later when it wouldn’t ruin the elation of the moment, where the victory wouldn’t tarnish.

“I am….surprised,” Francel starts slowly. “That Artoirel allowed it. Pleasantly so! I was certain he would test you somewhat first. N-not that I feel you do not deserve it or have not proved yourself- these last few moons speak much for your dedication and I do not think there is a soul in Ishgard who could argue. I merely-” he shrugs “thought he would make you dance before allowing it.”

“What ground would he have to object? I have been a model knight these past months,” Emmanellain’s all but preening and it draws a smile from Francel. It’s familiar, it’s comforting. And Emmanellain was often one to speak with a confidence he did not feel for more than a moment. But the preen fades to something softer, more honest, and he sits on his bed, gaze on his hands, before continuing.

“So did I,” He admits slowly, softly, but not sadly. He sounds almost awestruck, as if he was a moment away from relieved laughter. “I almost didn’t believe how easily he agreed. I suppose even he has seen how I have devoted myself to my training. But he has also changed since- since Haurchefant’s passing. Perhaps he’s looking for forgiveness.” He sighs and shakes his head, looking up. “I am not Haurchefant and I do not believe anyone suffers the delusion that I am. But I can still command Dragonhead, I can follow the traces he left.”

Francel walks over, joining his friend on the bed and pats his knee in comfort. “You can. And you will. I merely ask that you do not compare. I suffered greatly for trying to fill Chlodebaimt’s shoes. I ask you not to suffer the same. It is easy to find yourself lost in a shadow. If you find yourself drowning in it, find something to hold on to, something that is uniquely yours.” He squeezes Emmanellain’s knee slightly. “I believe in you. I always have. When you want something, you can get it. This merely proves that.”

Emmanellain places his hand on top of Francel’s and he suddenly remembers holding hands as small children as they navigated the city or parties. Remembers Emmanellain darting through crowds with Francel in tow, excited to show him something or someone. He had forgotten the comfort of it. Now he wondered if it was something they were even still allowed to do, or would he be crossing a line to turn his hand over and interlock their fingers? Now was not the time to ask.

“I know,” Emmanellain replies, smiling. “You were one of few who always encouraged me and never gave up. You have always been a true friend, old boy. However, it is time for me to prove to Ishgard what the youngest son of House Fortemps can do.”

“And so it is.” At length, Francel finally removes his hand from between Emmanellain’s hand and knee and rests it in his own lap. “I will visit you out there, when I can. I...seem to be rather quite busy for the foreseeable future but whenever I have a spare moment I shall come see you. I want to watch you shine.”

“And you shall be welcome! Dragonhead’s hearth will always be open to you. I am certain we would all have it no other way. I do mean to carry his legacy to the best of my ability.”

Francel chuckles quietly, happily. “Good. Do listen to Yaelle, the impression I always got was she was the one that kept everyone on task. I am certain she will not lead you astray. They will love you there if you allow them to and listen.”

“And so I will. But you have a Firmament to rebuild. Do not let me keep you from your tasks. We will see each other again before long.”

Francel nods, standing from his seat on the bed and smoothing his pants habitually. “I will see you off tomorrow when you leave. It is bad luck to not.” He moves to the doorway, hesitating for a second and giving Emmanellain one last gentle smile over his shoulder before leaving.

He wondered what Artoirel and their father thought about this, truly. Did they think he was finally bending to what they had wished for so long? Were they finally proud? How would they feel if this position did not go the way they all wished it to? Francel didn’t know, and he didn’t know either of them personally nor would it be acceptable to ask. Best, then, to see if Emmanellain sank or swam and be around to support him no matter the result. He had few enough pillars of support in his life and they had _both_ lost one when they lost Haurchefant.

And Francel was determined to pick up the slack. To be better. Ishgard believed in him, too, and he wanted to prove he could succeed in anything. Skyfire was a misstep but that did not mean he could not rebuild the Firmament, could not support one of his few childhood friends. If Haurchefant was watching the both of them from Halone’s Halls, Francel wanted to be certain he was proud of what he saw, so they would both do their best. For themselves, and for Ishgard.


End file.
